Tales of the Wolf: Book 01 - The Coming of the Wolf

by A. E. McCullough

  Her attackers leapt back in horror as blue-white sparks jumped from her outstretched hand, shocking anyone that was close. Twisting and scrambling through the grasping paws, she was almost free when suddenly the world went black as a huge hairy fist connected to her temple. Struggling to regain consciousness, she felt herself falling in and out of the blackness.

  A black, hairy, half-wolf face leaned down over top of her. “I warned you bitch. I warned you not to make us come in after you. Now, we’ll have to teach you a lesson before you die.”

  The last thing Tatianna remembered was feeling her clothes ripped off and the large black beast still in his hybrid form, mount her and steal her virginity. Thankfully, the soothing darkness of unconsciousness carried her away.

  One after another, the werewolves took their turn with her. When they were through, Tatianna lay bleeding and battered on the altar. Grabbing a handful of her long blood soaked hair Blackfang lifted her up by it until she hung at his eye level. Slapping her roughly, she groaned but didn’t wake up.

  Raking his claws across her right cheek, he left deep scratches and laughed as the pain jolted Tatianna back to consciousness. Grabbing her by the throat with his clawed hand, Blackfang spoke into her ear.

  “Give my regards to Luna if you see her. If she is not in the realm of the dead yet, she’ll be there shortly! There is a new goddess on Terreth and she only rewards the strong. You and your kind are part of the past. I am the future.”

  Summoning up the last of her strength, Tatianna spit in his face and said, “Go to hell!”

  Blackfang began to squeeze. “Probably… but you and your kind will be there first.”

  Just as the darkness was beginning to overtake her again, a low growl was heard from behind. Everyone, including Blackfang, froze as a huge snow-white wolf stepped between the pillars of the shrine.

  Chapter 2

  Run!

  That was the one thought that drove the fur covered hunter through the forest. Forcing his way through bushes and shrubs, leaping over rocks and roots, the hunter moved with the long steady strides of a wolf.

  Run! The chase was on.

  A cold gust of wind blew through the forest causing the trees to sway. A heavy layer of pine needles covered the forest floor while the early autumn snow drifted through the evergreen canopy overhead. A noise to the hunter’s right confirmed that his partner was also on the prey’s trail.

  Run!

  Without pausing, the hunter noted tuffs of pine needles turned up where his prey had bolted through the clearing and plowed through the bushes. It was tiring. No longer was the chase about skill and wit, now it was about endurance and the beast’s strength was almost gone. The hunter could tell that from its tracks.

  Run!

  Leaping over a small bush, the hunter caught a glimpse of his prey at the top of the ridge. Moving slowly toward a small opening in some rocks, its bloodied flanks heaving with exhaustion was the boar.

  The hunter notched a goose feathered arrow to his horned bow, dropped quickly to one knee and let fly the deadly projectile. Thinking it was safe the wounded boar had slowed its flight before entering its den. Unfortunately, it never had a chance as the arrow punctured its lung and dropped it to the ground.

  The bushes parted to the hunter’s right and a dwarf with a long mustache and beard moved into sight. He was completely bald and his facial hair was more silver than black. Dressed in brown leathers and carrying a crossbow, he was breathing heavily. The dwarf glanced up the ridge. “Did ya get ‘em?”

  Unstringing his bow with the casual ease of long practice, the hunter looked at his friend. “Do you really need to ask?”

  The dwarf spit in the dirt. “Now don’t get cocky ya pup! We all miss sometimes.”

  “Miss? A blind gnome could’ve shot better than you!”

  Laughing off the insult, the dwarf removed his bolt and decocked the crossbow. “Well, at least we’ll have meat for the next few weeks.”

  Moving up the ridge together, the friends were preparing to harvest the reward of their hunt when the sounds of battle reached their ears and all thoughts of roasted boar fled from the two companions. Without a word, the hunter restrung his bow while the dwarf pulled forth his warhammer and readied his shield. Moving cautiously to the edge of the rocks, the companions peered down the other side at the ravine.

  A small stream ran through this section of the Highlands and the remnants of a camp could be seen on the far side. The tents were ripped and flapped aimlessly in the ever present wind.

  Seven pale green skinned humanoids with protruding tusks rummaged through the camp remains. Goblins, the scavenger race of Terreth. Ugly, cruel and thoroughly evil, a goblin’s only redeeming feature was their total lack of courage.

  Several bodies could be seen scattered across the ravine but the hunter’s attention was drawn to the three black wolves, slowly circling a pair of injured warriors that were standing back to back with swords drawn.

  The hunter made several hand gestures to his dwarven partner who nodded his head before moving off to the far side of the rocks. Screened by shrubs, the hunter edged forward to a more advantageous position.

  Dressed in thick silver and black timberwolf furs with the hollowed out wolf’s head acting as a helmet, the tall man was virtually invisible. He blended into his surroundings as if he was more a creature of the forest than a civilized man.

  Lifting his head, the hunter took several deep breaths. The musty odor of blood and sweat mingled with the smoky scent of burnt flesh filled his nostrils. For the moment, he ignored the goblins and studied the wolves.

  They were beautiful creatures; solid black with strong, husky torsos and long graceful legs, capable of carrying them easily, five leagues a day. However, the hunter could tell by their scent that these wolves were not what they appeared to be. They were renegade lycanthrope warriors of the Black Wolf pack in their full wolf form.

  These butchers were responsible for the deaths of his family and the complete destruction of his village. He felt the surge of adrenaline as his anger rose. In his mind’s eye he could still picture the smiling faces of the Black Wolf warriors as they destroyed his village, killing his family and friends.

  Closing his eyes, the hunter forced himself to calm down but it was hard, bitterly hard. Experience had taught him that angry men make mistakes. A true warrior would never let his anger get the best of him and was more like a good blade; cold, hard and deadly.

  Taking a few breaths, he drew forth three more goose feathered arrows and laid them flat on the rocky soil, within easy reach. Once again the hunter lifted his head to check the condition of the wind, smiling as he felt the cold breeze on the front of his face. It was still coming from the north.

  ‘Good,’ he thought, ‘I’m still downwind.’

  Standing slowly, the hunter raised his bow. There was a slight creak from the mighty horn bow as it strained against the pull of the bowstring. The hunter’s arms bulged with the strength needed to draw back the powerful weapon. With a smooth and graceful draw, he placed his right hand to his cheek, breathing slow and regular, eyes slightly closed, nostrils flared, he sighted down the arrow shaft at his prey.

  There was a brief whoosh of air as the hunter released his first shot. The release was smooth and flawless. It seemed more like the arrow leapt from the bow, rather than being shot. Before the first missile had reached its target, the hunter grabbed the second arrow, drew and released again in one fluid motion. A third followed in close succession but the fourth the hunter held drawn and ready.

  None of the werewolves ever saw the arrows but they did hear them as they raced through the air. Raising their heads and looking around, the first wolf didn’t even get a chance to yelp as an arrow buried itself deep into its neck, flipping the beast and causing it to never move again.

  The second fared little better as an arrow lodged itself in its right shoulder, knocking it to the ground. The last wolf tried to bolt northward, away from the u
nseen assailant. It didn’t work. The third arrow scored a deep hit into its right rear flank, crippling the beast.

  All seven goblins glanced at the ridgeline as the arrows buried themselves into the werewolves. Suddenly, a brown and silver monster leapt off the ridge above them with a howl.

  Landing among them, the dwarf began bashing left and right with his warhammer and shield, knocking the goblins aside. Within seconds four goblins lay face down in the dirt, their blood staining the frozen ground. The three remaining foes bolted east as fast as their small frames would take them.

  The hunter kept his aim on the two crippled werewolves for a count of fifty breaths. Seeing that they weren’t going anywhere, the goblins had fled and his partner was safe for the moment, he relaxed his draw on the horn bow. Returning his unused arrow to his quiver, the hunter slung his bow over his right shoulder and quickly scanning the rocky hillside. Finding a suitable path that led down the embankment, the hunter cautiously entered the valley as a few snow flurries began to fill the evening sky.

  Knowing the crippled werewolves weren’t going anywhere soon, the hunter moved to the injured elves. The hunter studied the first of the two elves and to his surprise the elf’s hair wasn’t black at all, it was actually blue; a deep midnight blue.

  Placing his hand on the blue haired elf’s shoulder, the hunter asked softly, “Are you okay?”

  The elf’s sky blue eyes seemed slightly unfocused for a brief second before locking onto the grey eyes of the hunter. Nodding, the elf’s voice was weak but carried a melodic tone.

  “I am sorely injured but I shall live thanks to your timely rescue.”

  A slight growl from behind them drew their attentions back to the injured wolves.

  “Pardon me master elf, I have some unfinished business.”

  Moving past the body of the dead wolf, the hunter paused long enough to pull free his arrow. Examining it for a moment, a slight grin crossed his face as he replaced the arrow in his quiver. Pulling free his knife, the hunter sliced off the dead wolf’s right ear and placed it in a belt pouch before moving toward the two remaining werewolves.

  They responded by growling and lowering their heads menacingly.

  Fixing them with a deadly stare the hunter spoke in a cold, flat and emotionless tone. “One is already dead. You can join him or you can live. The choice is yours.”

  He drew his tomahawk with his right hand. “Just tell me where I can find Blackfang and I’ll spare you.”

  The werewolf with the arrow in the front shoulder snarled and attacked. With a tremendous lunge, the large black wolf covered the ten feet between them in a split second. The hunter calmly sidestepped and brought his tomahawk down hard on the wolf’s skull. Blood and brains flew everywhere as the wolf landed in a lump.

  The hunter turned his attention to the remaining wolf. “That’s two down. Do you wish to become number three? You have until I count to ten to change. One...two...three...”

  The crippled wolf gave up. Closing his eyes, a slight shiver ran the length of his body and his form began to change. There was a slight popping noise as his bones began to realign while its thick hair retracted all over his body. His nose shrank in on itself as his limbs lengthened. Moments later, where once there was a black wolf laid a naked man with an arrow protruding from his right hip.

  Lying in a pool of his own blood the man asked, “Who…who are you? I can tell by your scent that you are of the wolf’s blood?”

  Eyes sparkling with amusement, the hunter smiled coldly. “Yes, I am of the wolf’s blood. My name is Kamots Hawkeye. I was once the warlord of the White Wolf Pack and I am the last thanks to your warlord, Blackfang.”

  The crippled man’s eyes widened as he heard the hunter’s name. Looking around for help, his eyes came to rest on the two dead forms of his pack mates.

  “But, but…that can't be. We killed everyone and left you for dead.”

  “Yes, you did kill everyone including my wife and children but by the grace and will of Luna, I survived. Now tell me what I want to know and maybe, just maybe I’ll let you live!”

  Rolling onto his belly, the crippled man tried to crawl away. “Please don’t kill me! Please, don’t kill me! I didn’t want to do it! Blackfang made us!”

  Hawkeye grabbed the begging man’s hair and placed his knife’s razor sharp edge at the man’s throat. “This is the last time I'll ask you! Where is Blackfang?”

  Twenty breaths passed and the begging man said nothing. Hawkeye pressed his blade harder against his throat and saw the first drops of blood begin to fall from his neck. Lowering his face until he was right in his ear, his tone grew colder. “I don’t have all day! Speak now or die!”

  The crippled man cracked. “Okay! Don’t kill me! I’ll tell you all I know!”

  Pulling his knife away slowly, Hawkeye raked the bloody edge across the man’s cheek. “I’m waiting.”

  “Blackfang took some of the men north into the forest to chase some elf bitch. We were to stay here just in case she doubled back.”

  Hawkeye pointed around with his knife. “What happened here?”

  “These elves invaded our home and we gave chase. We didn’t expect them to put up much of a fight but they had mighty magic and drove us back. Blackfang’s witch countered with sorcery of her own which broke them. We moved in to finish them off and to search for prisoners.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Hawkeye dropped all his weight onto one knee. Unfortunately for the crippled man, it was onto the leg with Hawkeye’s arrow still lodged in it.

  The injured barbarian yelped in pain. “I....I swear it’s the truth! That’s all I know!”

  Reaching down with his left hand, Hawkeye wrenched free his arrow.

  The crippled man screamed in pain.

  Taking a moment to examine his arrow, Hawkeye frowned. The shaft was spilt making the arrow useless but he pulled free the silver arrowhead and tossed the rest to the ground. Turning to retrieve his tomahawk from the corpse of the second wolf, he wiped its blade on the dead wolf’s fur.

  “I would suggest that you make yourself very scarce. I’m sure Blackfang would be upset if he found out you talked.”

  Holding one hand over his wound as he desperately tried to stem the flow of blood, the crippled man rocked back and forth in pain. Through gritted teeth, he cursed. “You son of a bitch! Blackfang will gnaw on your bones when he’s through with you.”

  Ignoring the wounded man, Hawkeye turned his attention back to the injured elves and was surprised to see that the elf with the blue hair had watched his inquisition of the bandit without a word. Elves were known across Terreth as having an intense hatred for violence.

  The blue haired elf was standing with bandages wrapped around his leg and chest area, they were bloody but not leaking. Leaning on him for support was another elf, so similar in looks that they had to be brothers, twins by the look of it. Judging from the hastily applied bandage, his twin must’ve sustained a nasty head injury along with injuries to his torso and leg.

  The blue haired elf placed his right hand over his heart and gave a slight bow. “Well met Kamots Hawkeye, son of Luna. I am Khlekluëllin Amarth.” He gestured to the injured warrior at his side. “And this is my brother Mortharona; we are in your debt.”

  Hawkeye noted that even though the elf’s name ‘Klek – clue – ellen’ sounded slightly harsh compared to his brother’s it still flowed off his tongue easily as did most words when spoken with the musical vocalization of the elven dialect.

  Khlekluëllin turned to the dwarf. “And yours master dwarf. It has been a long time since a dwarf has aided an elf.”

  Rjurik took a bite out of a block of tobacco. “Well, don’t go makin’ much of it.” With a nod over his head at Hawkeye he added, “If it weren’t fer the youngin’ I would’ve passed ye by.”

  Hawkeye placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Now Rjurik that isn’t true and you know it.” He turned back to the elves. “You must forgive
my friend, Rjurik isn’t much for strangers.”

  “Bah,” the dwarf said with a scowl and a spit. “Don’t go puttin’ words in me mouth; I say what I say, no more an’ no less.”

  Hawkeye gestured to the injured werewolf behind him. “How much of what this idiot said was true?”

  Scratching his chin, Khlekluëllin smiled slightly. “I am sure from his point of view, all of it. But explanations shall have to wait; my sister is missing.”

  The evening air was broken by the howls of several wolves as somewhere in the distance a wolf pack had caught the scent of its prey.

  Hawkeye looked to the north then back at the two elves. “You have no chance of reaching her in time but I can.” He turned his attention back to his friend. “Take them to the tower. I will go after their sister.”

  Poking his stubby fingers into Hawkeye’s gut, Rjurik grumbled. “Now you listen ya big lummox! If ye do this, ye do this. Don’t go seeking your vengeance at her expense. Save her if ye can but don’t go gettin’ yourself kilt over a damn elf.”

  “Don’t worry old friend. I’ll be back before dawn. Have a fire going and cook some of that boar. It would be a shame to let that meat go to waste.”

  Without another word, Hawkeye sprinted off to the north as the late autumn sun was just fading behind the mountains in the west.

  Shadows moved at the edge of the forests while numerous large carrion birds began circling the recent battlefield. Nature was just waiting for its dinner. For in nature and especially in the Highlands, only the strong survive for long.

  Chapter 3

  The rocky canyon walls echoed with the howling wind as it bit hungrily at the heavily cloaked riders. With heads lowered and faces covered against the swirling leaves and flying dust, they hardly noticed the barren landscape. As they wound their way single file following the banks of a rushing river, the once vibrant forest was blackened with death and decay. Only the water remained clear and bright, seemingly untouched by the evil that was poisoning the land.